


A Second Chance - Side Stories

by photogiraffe77



Series: 'A Second Chance' - Main & Side Stories [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Established couple, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Makeup Sex, Smut, it's in the main story, kuroken chapter features the following tags, set in the US, side story for a series, snuggles, there is a plot it's just not here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/photogiraffe77/pseuds/photogiraffe77
Summary: These are side-stories about the side pairings from the main fic, a DaiSuga-centric story called 'A Second Chance'. I would highly advise *against* reading these stories without reading the main fic, as a lot of it will have content and references that might be difficult to grasp otherwise. But hey, do what ya want! Thanks for reading!
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: 'A Second Chance' - Main & Side Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942333
Comments: 61
Kudos: 191





	1. 'Baby-Gate' & Makeup Sex (IwaOi)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my amazing readers of 'A Second Chance'! I hope you enjoy this IwaOi side story. I have made it a multi-chaptered side fic, as it will be the home of several side-stories and 'one-shots' that are a part of the main story but not directly tied to the main plotline. However, reading this fic without reading the main story will probably leave you more than a little confused. Anyway, see you at the bottom! :) 
> 
> For reference, this scene picks right up where Chapter 6, Act I ended.

“God, you’re an ugly crier.” 

“Don’t be so mean, Iwa-chan!” Tooru sniffled, pawing at his reddened cheeks. 

Contrary to popular belief, he actually hated crying, mostly because he knew how accurate his husband’s observation was: he was the world’s ugliest crier. His nose would get red and runny, his eyes puffy and glassy, and he would sob with a force that racked his whole body, causing his shoulders to shake and his lips to quiver. Tears would cascade down his face, running until they met and dripped off of his pointed chin.

Yes, Tooru Oikawa was a _miserable_ crier.

“Hush, babe, it’s alright,” Hajime soothed, holding his husband close, placing soft butterfly kisses on his temple, nuzzling his nose into that chocolate brown hair. Tooru knew he smelled like sweat still from his run, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when he was finally reconnected with _his_ Iwa-chan after a week-long fight. 

This fight had been a real record-breaker for their relationship. It was no secret to everyone around them that the pair butted heads. It was practically a staple in their marriage: Hajime would tell Tooru ‘no’ and they would fight or Tooru would force Hajiime to open up about his feelings instead of bottling them up and they would, yet again, fight. Then they’d fall back together in passionate, animalistic make-up sex and move forward. It was the way of the beast. 

But this argument took the cake. The silent treatment was new for Tooru. He had never found himself capable of giving the cold shoulder before, especially not to his partner of nearly ten years. Tooru was good at the ‘blow up’: throwing snarky words, raising his voice, and unfortunately, crying. But over the past few days, he found it difficult to find the words to express how hurt he had been. Actually, maybe he was just afraid to say them at all because he knew that once he opened his mouth, they would be earth-shattering and things would change, but he was uncertain if it would be for the better.

“Why don’t you go shower and I’ll make you some French toast,” Hajime offered after a few moments, pulling away to get a better view of Tooru’s total train wreck of a face.

Instinctively, Tooru turned his head away and pouted, thumbing at one watery, hazel eye. “With whipped cream?” he asked weakly, giving a mildly pathetic sniffle.

“I’ll even make it with milk bread,” the darker brunette insisted, leaning forward to give a sweet kiss to his husband’s forehead.

“‘Kay,” he whispered, accepting one final kiss from Hajime, this time, planted on the corner of his pink mouth. 

He watched his lover leave the office, Tooru once again left alone with his thoughts. With a heavy sigh, he saved the work he pulled up on his computer and made his way back to their master bedroom. 

His run with Suga this morning had been cathartic, the young educator pushing his body to its limits in an attempt to exhaust himself even further. He hadn’t been sleeping well, not since Hajime opted to take the couch. Tooru hadn’t even asked him, and Hajime never said that’s what he was doing - he just did it. Before this week, Tooru could count on one hand the number of nights that had slept apart since moving in together seven years ago. The only instances were for work when one or the other had to travel out of state for a conference or meeting. Otherwise, they were side-by-side each night, even after bad fights. 

Tooru loved to snuggle. He loved to be held, to touch hands over the bedspread, to tangle legs under the sheets. Even in the hot and humid Midwestern summers, Hajime never moaned or groaned about cranking up the air conditioning at night just so they could comfortably cuddle because it made Tooru happy. Hajime, who grew up with next to nothing, would bend over backward to give the love his life _everything_.

Tooru turned on the shower, letting it run a moment to warm up, taking his time to peel his sweaty athletic gear off before placing them diligently in the hamper. After a couple of minutes, Tooru pulled back the glass door and stepped inside.

The hot water from the shower felt so refreshing as it washed over his balmy skin, rinsing away the well-earned perspiration and dirt from the trails as well as the stinging guilt and heavy-heartedness he had walked around with for days. The worst part of the whole ordeal was that he couldn’t run to his safety-net, his pillar of strength, his soul mate. It was strange to go through such debilitating emotions and sleepless nights and crippling doubt and fear and anxiety and _not_ rely on his beloved Iwa-chan. Hajime was always there, arms held open, quick to cuddle and reassure while lovingly calling him a ‘dumb-ass’ or ‘Shittykawa’ and talking him through whatever was bothering him so much. 

Sure, he could have told Suga, and his best friend would have done basically the same thing. But it was different. He didn’t want Koushi’s reassurance. He wanted _Hajime’s_. Because the doubt that was manifesting in his heart wasn’t because of an outside source, like a struggle at work, or his knee injury, or anything of that sort. It was because the most solid structure in his life was wavering, teetering on atrophied legs, walking around on broken toes and hollow promises. And he was so terrified that Hajime would slip through his fingers, temporary and fleeting like finely-ground sand.

But this morning, that shared moment of vulnerability, seeing through the other in such a way they hadn’t before… it was beautiful. And while they weren’t back to normal, and he had a few things left he wanted to say, it felt like they made a step in the right direction. Tooru knew that he could be a selfish person sometimes, but he never wanted to be that way to his husband, not really. Did he always get to pick where they ate when they went out? Yes. Did he get to choose the color they painted the house? Yes. Did he get Hajime to take him to the ballet instead of to the NFL playoff game? Also yes. But choosing whether or not they adopted kids? That wasn’t a decision he could or ever should make on his own.

After washing his hair and body, and taking just another few minutes to revel in the rejuvenating feel of the hot water, he turned the showerhead off, opened the opaque glass door, and stepped out on the bath mat. He gasped as soon as he saw Hajime standing in the doorway, a fluffy, wine-red towel in his hands. 

“Here,” he said, voice a little gruff, a small but loving smile on his face. “I threw it in the dryer for you.”

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru whispered, accepting the oversized towel. It was warm to the touch. He immediately pressed it to his face and got a refreshing, soothing whiff of their laundry detergent. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” Hajime dismissed. “Take your time getting dressed, breakfast will be done in just a bit.”

But before he could get the words ‘thank you’ out once more, Hajime shut the bathroom door, sealing Tooru away with his thoughts and swirling steam. He wrapped the towel around himself, basking in the warmth and pleasure of not just the fabric, but the fact that his husband was so thoughtful, even in light of what had happened. The fight had been Tooru’s fault, no doubt about it. He sprang something on his partner, a huge, life-changing something, and just expected him to roll with it. It was no wonder that Hajime was dumb-founded and quiet when the words ‘adopt a baby’ came out of Tooru’s mouth- it would be foolish if he _didn’t_ want a moment to talk things out and think on it. They had been married only a few months, and despite all the years before that, their marriage was still new, as was Tooru’s position at the school. Plus, Hajime’s new DCFO seemed like a reliable guy, but that position had had it’s problem before. 

Tooru took a moment to blowdry his hair and quaff it to its normal perfect status before dressing in a comfy (but tiny) pair of athletic shorts and one of Hajime’s ‘Seijo University Basketball’ t-shirts. Though taller than his husband, he practically swam in the garment, the darker brunette’s shoulders were so much wider and his chest so much broader than his own. He pulled the hem up to his nose and breathed in deeply. Even though they washed their clothes together, it was something about Hajime, maybe it was his natural scent or his rich cologne that still lingered to the fabric, but it was intoxicating. He could endlessly breathe that scent and still never have enough.

Deciding he had better move it along before his breakfast got cold, Tooru hung up his towel and put away his hairdryer before joining his husband in the main part of the house. As he emerged from the hall, the rousing, familiar smell of cinnamon and syrup wafted through the air. It was a peaceful, comforting presence. Sunday brunch meant routine and safety and Hajiime’s love, sweeter than any whipped cream he could put on top of his french toast.

“Iwa-chan!” the tall brunette exclaimed as he entered into their very large, modern-style kitchen. “It smells wonderful!”

Green eyes met hazel as Hajime picked up his head from where he was standing in front of the stove, turning around to see his beloved wearing a gorgeous, heartfelt smile. “Have a seat at the patio, I’ll bring it out.”

“Do you need any help?” Tooru offered, padding softly over the pristine gray tile of their kitchen. Hajime only shook his head, waving his hand as an instruction. 

“No, I’ll have it out in just a moment.”

“Oh, okay,” Tooru said, reluctantly obliging. He felt incredibly useless as he walked through the kitchen, opening the sliding glass door and taking a seat at their round patio table. For a late August morning, it was still pleasantly nice on their back deck. It was overcast, staving off the heat of the sun. They lived in a nice neighborhood, in the quiet suburbs, away from the main part of the city. Their back deck faced a small, man-made pond surrounded by tall trees, still green and full of life. They didn’t have many neighbors, as it was a fairly new housing development, so they enjoyed the solitude. 

“Here babe,” Hajime greeted as he popped through the patio door, a plate in hand. He sat it down in front of Tooru who smiled brightly at the sight. Fluffy, beautiful french toast was arranged delicately, the milk bread cut perfectly into triangles, coated in cinnamon and powdered sugar, topped with whipped cream and strawberries. 

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” Tooru gushed, clasping a hand over his heart, smiling down at the dish. “This is perfect.”

“Sit tight, I’ll go get the syrup and forks.”

Tooru could only continue to admire the dish until his husband reemerged, his own dish and forks in one hand, and the canister of organic syrup in the other. ‘ _We don’t eat that artificial stuff, Iwa-chan!_ ’ Tooru had explained to him all those years ago after Hajime put an industrial size bottle of Mrs. Buttersworth in the cart on their maiden trip to the grocery store when they moved into their first apartment, a little two-bedroom place they shared with Suga their senior year of college. 

‘ _Why not? It’s good and it’s on sale_ ’, he had insisted, confused at what the big deal was. Tooru remembered his face fondly as Tooru handed him a glass jar of syrup that was almost twice the price, explaining that it was worth it.

And when they got home and Tooru made pancakes and topped them with the organic stuff, Hajime ended his torrid love-affair with Mrs. Butterworth then and there.

“How is it?” Hajime asked, watching Tooru take his first bite, emerald gaze locked on his husband’s every movement. 

The moan Tooru made as he swallowed a massive bite must have been a sufficient answer as Hajime’s face split into a wide grin. “Oh my god, baby,” Tooru cooed once he had cleared up sufficient space in his mouth to talk properly, “this is delightful. Did you change the recipe?”

Hajime shrugged noncommittally, “just a bit. I picked up some farm fresh eggs yesterday on the way home from work. I thought you might like that better.”

“Iwa-chan, you should open a breakfast restaurant,” Tooru commented before taking another large bite, humming his approval once again.

“Nah, I couldn’t make anyone else this food. It’s just for you,” Hajime explained quietly before taking a bite of his own, a slight blush dusting his cheekbones, hardly noticeable beneath his tanned skin.

Tooru felt as though his heart might just rush out of his chest. “I love you, Hajime,” Tooru blurted without thinking, his husband’s given name rolling off his lips, not as a way to be insulting, or to divert back to anything they might have been before. No, this time, it was an act of raw sincerity, unfiltered, and authentic. They weren’t the couple to say it a lot, but when they did, it was reserved for moments like these.

And before Hajime could answer, Tooru sat up a little straighter, capturing his husband’s free hand and holding it tightly. “And I’m sorry that Koushi had to catch on before I could. That wasn’t fair of me, and I know that it doesn’t make up for what I did, but--”

“Tooru, stop,” Hajime said firmly, causing Tooru to stiffen in his seat. He let out a heavy sigh and lowered his fork, turning his full attention to the beautiful brunette beside him. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes, I do!” Tooru’s voice left him an octave or two higher than he intended, much to his embarrassment. He didn’t want to squeak like a teenager! He wanted to passionately apologize like the fully-grown 29-year-old man he was.

“No, you don’t. I appreciate you doing so, really. But it’s really out of character for you and kind of starting to scare me,” Hajime joked, winking teasingly, causing heat to sprawl through the entirety of Tooru’s body. His husband was meandering into dangerous territory acting like that. 

“Mean, Iwa-chan!” Tooru whined, puffing his chest and pouting his bottom lip.

“You better not make that face at me, _Oikawa,_ ” Hajime warned, voice low and thick, sounding like gravel as it rolled from his chest. He was intentionally trying to rile Tooru now, using his maiden name. Tooru fought tooth and nail to be able to marry the love of his life, and he would be damned if he didn’t get to take his last name.

“Don’t call me that!” Tooru cried, half-heartedly trying to pull free of Hajime’s death grip.

“Don’t call you what?” Hajime teased, scooting closer once again, the metal legs of the patio chair lightly scaping the wood deck beneath them.

“Oikawa! That’s not my name anymore.”

“Then what should I call you instead?” Hajime asked flirtatiously, looking the taller man up and down, lust starting to cloud his dark, sage eyes. “How about ‘ _darling boy’_?”

As if he had been struck by lightning, a powerful shiver jolted his spine, causing his skin to be covered in goosebumps and his hair on his arms and neck to stand on end. That was Hajime’s special pet name for him, something he was only called in one context: the bedroom.

Clearly amused by Tooru’s stunned silence, Hajime laughed, a knowing smirk plastered on his handsome features. “I feel like that suits you. What do you say?”

Tooru swallowed thickly, the lust in his stomach pooling hot and heavy, careening through his limbs. There was something lurking in Hajime, a bit of darkness that wasn’t threatening or terrifying - it was electrifying, proof that he was alive. It caused his emerald eyes to shimmer, deep orbs made of liquid jade and chrysoberyl, swirling and enticing. It wasn’t just that sturdy body, that perfect captain’s physique and impeccable build that initially lured Tooru to his husband, though it certainly helped. No, it was that look he gave, those irises an enchanting and bewitching shade of green.

“Yes, sir,” Tooru whispered, voice soft and quiet, giving Hajime’s pet name as an act of submission, showing his desire to play along.

Hajime rose to his feet, keeping their hands locked as the shorter of the two pulled them along, abandoning the remains of their breakfast on the patio. Tooru’s heart pounded in his chest, threatening to crack open his ribcage. He had missed his beloved Iwa so much, and finally, they were going to have a chance to reconnect, mind, soul, and body. It was an almost indescribable feeling.

As soon as they crossed the threshold to the master bedroom, their mouths collided, hot and hurried. It would never cease to amaze Tooru at how they beautifully, almost harmoniously, fit together, as if Hajime was always his missing puzzle piece. He would forever be addicted to that skillful tongue and those rough, powerful hands that knew just where to hold and touch, how to take and how to give, how to tease and how to serve. 

Tooru felt himself fall on the mattress as Hajime gave him a gentle shove that forced their mouths to part, his long back connecting with the soft down of their comforter, a fire burning in his chest that it was _their_ bed again, despite having slept in it alone for nearly a week. The space within the four-poster frame was their sanctuary, their place of worship and connection, somewhere they could meet and never have to worry if they were good enough or if they mattered or if they were loved. It didn’t matter if it was sex, or just simply cuddling, holding each other at night time: this bed belonged to them.

Hajime loomed over his husband, looking down at Tooru with those striking bedroom eyes, body rigid and clearly ready, given the growing bulge in the front of his dark, trim-cut sweatpants. “Darling boy,” Hajime whispered, positioning himself between the former cheerleader’s long, pale legs where they draped over the edge of the mattress. He then placed a firm hand on either side of Tooru’s head, caging him in place as he raked his gaze up and then back down, a victorious smirk on his lips - Tooru was every bit as eager as his husband. “Look at you,” Hajime taunted, shifting his weight to one arm, his bicep flexing an extraordinary ridge of muscle as he used his free hand to tease, gingerly running a long, provoking finger up the length of Tooru’s clothed erection. “You’re already this hard and I’ve barely touched you.”

Tooru couldn’t govern the whimper that left his throat, the needy, hungry sound that only egged on Hajime’s downright sinful expression. Tooru could feel his body tremble with wild anticipation, the longing settling in his bones, surging his blood as it coursed through his veins. “Please touch me, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime clicked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head. “That’s not the right thing to say, is it now?”

Tooru keened again as he watched Hajime’s hand map a trail down one of his firm, milky thighs, the edges of his husband’s calloused fingertips just barely ghosting the surface of his skin. Hajime caught his bony ankle, and in one fluid motion, twisted it, rolling Tooru so he laid on his stomach, face pressed into their bedspread. 

“I want you to be a good boy, Tooru, so I can reward you,” Hajime chastised as he pawed at Tooru’s ass, clearly taking his time to admire the perky, round mound of muscle as he gave it a little squeeze. “Don’t you want a reward?”

Tooru tried to reply, but the sound came out muffled and unintelligible as the words were trapped beneath him.

“What was that?” Hajime asked, leaning closer, breath hot on the shell of Tooru’s ear.

“Yes, sir,” Tooru repeated, positioning himself so his cheek was pressed to the fabric, freeing him to see and speak. He could feel his eyes growing watery from anticipation and desire as Hajime curled his fingers around the elastic waistband of Tooru’s shorts, pulling them down, along with his boxers, until they cleared his ankles, the cotton material brushing the bottom of his sensitive feet. He shivered slightly at the newly exposed cold air.

“Good boy, now on your knees.” Hajime was using that authoritative voice that wasn’t overly forceful or expectant, it was simply confident. He had refined it over time, finding the perfect tone that turned Tooru into putty, allowing him to be shaped and molded. 

Tooru obliged, moving so he was resting on his knees, ass up in the air, face still down, forearms flush to the mattress. From behind him, Hajime made a thoughtful hum, using both of his hands to admire. “Fuck, babe, look at you,” he nearly growled, sheer admiration present in his praise. “Look at this little hole.” As he made that comment, Hajime parted Tooru’s cheeks, taking the tip of his thumb and running it mercilessly over the puckered ring. The tall brunette mewled at that, fisting his hands into the duvet. 

Suddenly, a wet heat filled him, pulling a breathless gasp from his lungs. 

_Hajime’s tongue is in me_ , he realized as he felt it explore and probe. Iwa-chan flattened it out, covering the surface of his hole before plunging in once more. Tooru felt as if his insides were melting, that he was liquifying around that beautiful, pink tongue. The pleasure rushed to his head and his dick. “So sensitive today, darling boy,” Hajime stated, tone still holding onto a teasing lilt. But Tooru had been with his husband long enough to know when he was starting to crumble and lose his composure, turning into a slave to his own cravings and desires. “Who said you could be this sensitive, hmm?” 

And with that question, a thick, determined finger slipped inside of Tooru, the canal wet and waiting from the work Hajime’s mouth had done. He whined yet again, a breathless ‘Iwa-chan’ on his pink lips, shining with the spit left behind from his panting breath. “More,” he cried weakly.

“Louder, Tooru,” Hajime commanded as he placed a taunting kiss squarely on the lower part of his back, right on that horribly ugly alien-head tattoo he hated so much. Tooru’s shirt was sliding down, gathering at his shoulders. It was too big in the first place since it was Hajime’s, and now it was nearly falling off. From behind him, Tooru knew that his husband was still fully dressed.

“More, please.” Tooru was begging now, and if it were anyone else other than his doting, sweet Iwa-chan, he would be disgusted with himself, ashamed of how much he _needed_ to be filled. 

“Please what, Tooru? Whom are you asking?” Tooru cried out again as Hajime’s free hand cracked across his bare ass, the other hand still occupied inside of him. The spank wasn’t overly rough, but the stinging sensation was welcomed, jarring his senses awake where they had since become overwhelmed with pleasure. When no response came, Hajime repeated the action once more.

“Please, _sir_ ,” he begged between labored pants, whole body vibrating to life.

“Much better,” Hajime whispered. “Good boy,” he praised, pulling his index finger out to meet his middle one before disappearing once again. The slow burn caused Tooru to hiss and throw his head back. It wasn’t painful, not really. It was very much a sensation that he was looking forward to, and he would soon be begging for it all, for _Hajime_. 

Adept, experienced digits curled and scissored - they had no use for exploring, not when they had every inch of Tooru memorized; Hajime was branded on his skin, within him, every fiber and cell calling for the other, imploring him forward. Hajime knew what he needed sometimes more than he knew himself - he trusted his husband like that. Tooru knew he could hand his body over and Hajime would care for it, treat it lovingly and roughly at the same time. He needed that duality, those combined forces. There were days he wanted to be destroyed just so Hajime could help build him back up, piecing him closer to completeness. And there were days he would do that for Hajime, too. It was a partnership, they were a team, two beings with the same goal: to be loved completely, and without inhibitions.

“You’re so sweet today, Tooru,” Hajime cooed, using the hand that had just delivered that resounding smack to his ass to instead brace his face, his thumb sweeping beneath one of Tooru’s hazel eyes, edging the very tips of his long, dark lashes. “Look how pretty you are.” 

Usually, Tooru was the talker, and his brutish and often sober husband would let him be. In most social situations, the taller man did all the navigating, keeping the conversation up for them both. And why wouldn’t he? He was charming and charismatic, likable, and sometimes just a bit provocative, in the best sense of the word. But when he submitted, it was for a purpose: it was Hajime’s turn to have control, to call the shots, to take the lead. It meant that he was exhausted from his facade, from wearing that synthetic smile he paraded about in an attempt to conceal his stress and worries. And this week had been _so_ very stressful. 

“I-Iwa,” he stuttered, tongue heavy in his mouth, fisting the sheets tighter, “sir, please.”

“Do you want more?” Hajime asked, the third finger barely breaching the hole, stretching and spreading, preparing Tooru for what was next. 

“I want you, Hajime, please,” he whined, voice high-pitched and longing. 

“What do you want?” he egged on, clearly too enthralled and amused by his husband’s frantic cries.

“Your dick,” Tooru stated as clearly and calmly as he could. “Please.”

“Roll over,” Hajime instructed as he pulled his fingers from Tooru’s tight heat, the former cheerleader hissing as he was emptied when all he wanted to be was filled. He obeyed, though, removing his shirt as he did so, the faded, gray fabric mussing his hair. Before him, Hajime quickly undressed, pulling off his own shirt followed by his track pants and boxers, freeing his erection, the hardened member flushed and firm, twitching from neglect.

Tooru watched closely, squirming with impatience as Hajime retrieved the bottle of lube from the nightstand and poured some of his hand before reaching for down and giving his dick a few languid pumps. The shorter man rasped at the contact, clearly anxious for a little relief. 

“Don’t touch that with your hand, Iwa-chan. Fuck me instead.” He knew those words were a mistake the second they left his mouth. This wasn’t his show, it was Hajime’s, and he wasn’t in the proper position to be making demands. Hajime’s green eyes fell half-lidded, that damn smirk that was equal parts terrifying and arousing caught once more on his lewd expression. 

“What did you just say?” Hajime challenged, taking a step closer to the bed. “Do you think you get to be in charge?” 

A sharp breath pulled at his lungs as Hajime grabbed ankle once more, using sheer strength the drag the taller to the very edge of the bed, his pert ass hanging off the end of the mattress, placing both of Tooru’s toned calves on either shoulder. “Let me take care of you, Tooru,” Hajime stated, though this time it wasn’t a demand- it wasn’t part of their ‘play’, and he certainly wasn’t acting. The pure, vulnerable quality of his words affirmed what Tooru knew all along - that he was so loved by this man that it was almost immeasurable. 

“Please,” was all Tooru could think to say, pleading and pliant, so ready to take all that Hajime was willing to give to him.

The darker brunette gave one final warning squeeze to Tooru’s thigh before aligning himself to his entrance, the hole now open and waiting. And as Hajime slowly sank in, Tooru felt his head spin. This wasn’t their first time, far from it, in fact, but it was perhaps the first time he needed this much reassurance from his lover, his best friend, his partner in life. He needed to know that Hajime still loved him, despite how selfish and vapid he could be, how self-absorbed and narcissistic he could act. He needed that physical anchor, their bodies morphed into one, to really feel as though Hajime was tethered to Tooru as much as Tooru was to him.

Above him, Hajime moaned, the first actual evidence of his waning composure as he delved his length further in. It was beautiful, that burn, that tangible proof of their unification. Tooru cried out then, Hajime’s name salacious and heavy on his parted lips. “Iwa-chan,” he cried, crossing his ankles behind Hajime’s neck.

“Tooru, _fuck_ ,” he practically barked, his broad hand spread flat against Tooru’s taut abdomen, his stomach still refined and lean from regular exercise. It didn’t look anything like Hajime’s though, those hard lines of his six-pack cut perfectly, solid and sharp. Every inch of Hajime was still covered in defined muscle, tanned skin pulled firm, accenting his bulk and prowess. He was a god, in Tooru’s eyes. He would always be.

“Are you okay?” Hajime leaned down and whispered, ghosting soft kisses across Tooru’s cheek, fingers threading through the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

Tooru could only nod, still stunned and rendered speechless. Hajime pushed in the rest of the way until his hips were flush with the back of Tooru’s slender thighs, never ceasing to give sweet, loving kisses, never stilling the hand in his hair nor the one wrapped around his thigh; every touch was offered as an expression of worship and admiration, an act of love and forgiveness, made all in the same gesture. 

“Move, please,” Tooru begged with a sob. He wasn’t crying from pain, he realized as wet tears traced down his high cheekbones. No, he was shedding affirmation of his joy, unbridled relief that he was making love with _his_ Iwa-chan.

Never one to disappoint, Hajime began slow, deliberate thrusts, doing everything in his power to draw bated breaths and racy cries from Tooru, leaving the taller of the two begging for more, demanding everything from his husband. All the while, he offered sweet, assuring words: ‘ _look how perfect you are_ ’, ‘ _Tooru you are so gorgeous_ ’, ‘ _god, I love you so much_ ’.

And how little did Tooru actually understand what ends of the earth Hajime would travel to just to make him smile, even if for just a moment. He would hang the stars in the sky and touch the very depths of the ocean for his soul mate, and never think twice about it. 

“Baby, more,” he begged, somehow finding the breath in his lungs to instigate Hajime, the slow, well-paced motions not enough, not quite reaching. “Fuck me, Hajime.”

That was all it took, Hajime picking up speed, each piston of his hips hitting hard, finding that bundle of nerves buried within Tooru, forcing him to lose grip on reality as sweat matted his perfect hair and air ripped from his overzealous lungs. And as Hajime wrapped a hand around his swelled, neglected cock, Tooru knew he wouldn’t last long, not like this. Not when his heart was going to burst and his throat burned and he felt so very full in every capacity within his lean and nimble body. 

He came then, white-hot lightning clouding his vision as Hajime pumped his orgasm to completion, never once slowing his own rhythm. ‘Iwa-chan’ was offered as a heavy litany, permeating the room as his own come spilled over his stomach, warm and oozing, leaving him spent and satiated. 

“Fill me, _sir_ ,” Tooru crooned, using that play name one last time, making his voice sweet and thick, like the syrup they poured over their breakfast not even an hour earlier. “Come in me.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hajime rasped as his thrusts became erratic, hurried and uneven, proof of his undoing. And he came, filling that oversensitive canal with seed. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Hajime whispered as he pumped to completion, reigning kisses against Tooru’s injured knee, covering the dark scar from his surgery with the affectionate, gentle press of his lips.

“I love you, Iwa-chan,” Tooru called softly, his body still buzzing from his orgasm, hands and toes numb, eyelids heavy.

“I love you, too, Tooru,” Hajime assured him, carefully extricating himself, leaving behind tender kisses as he did so. Once he was all the way out, Hajime gently grabbed Tooru’s legs and swung him around so he could lay properly in the bed before rolling him onto his side. “Lay still a moment, I’ll go get a towel.”

Tooru hummed in approval, lost in his bliss-filled cloud. It could have been three minutes or it could have been an hour by the time Hajime returned with a warm washcloth, thoroughly and dotingly wiping him down, starting with his stomach and finishing with his sore and tender backside. “There you are,” he soothed after he tossed the damp cloth in the hamper. “Why don’t we put your shorts back on, okay babe?” 

The lanky brunette only nodded feebly as Hajime worked his soft shorts back over his long legs, Tooru lifting his butt up enough so they were all the way on. He hummed and laid back against the pillows, clearly satiated and content.

“Are you alright?” Hajime asked as he laid next to his husband, combing his thick fingers through Tooru’s chocolate hair.

“Yes,” he whispered finally, rolling over to face his partner. Hajime’s eyes were softer now. Where they were once so fiery and wanton before, they were instead smoldering, brimming with reverence and affection.

“Good,” Hajime gave a satiated half-smile. “Come here.”

And like he had the entire time, Tooru obeyed, crawling over so his head rested on Hajime’s bare, broad chest, his heart still beating wildly; he had yet to completely decompress and wind down. “Iwa-chan?”

“Hmm?” he asked, trailing his fingers across Tooru’s freckled shoulder. 

“Did you really mean what you said?”

“When? Just now?”

Tooru shook his head. “No, when you said that if I had a uterus, you’d pump me full of a million babies.”

Hajime laughed, but he did his damnedest to cover it up with a ‘shut up, Shittykawa’. Tooru didn’t ask anything else, only lulled into a restful sleep, where he dreamed of a beautiful, chestnut-haired baby with Hajime’s distinctive green eyes and a smile much like the one he saw every day in the mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh so that's a thing now! I hope you liked it! I am not a pro at smut, I do admit that, but I am trying to get better. I hope all my 'Second Chance' readers enjoyed it regardless, and if you're a new reader who braved this anyway, welcome aboard! I hope you are enthralled enough to go back and check out the main story.
> 
> Anywho, drop me a comment and let me know how I did! As always, feel free to follow me on Tumblr and yell at me there! https://photogiraffe77.tumblr.com/
> 
> Happy Haikyuu week!


	2. Bean Bag Chair (KuroKen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I'm back again with another side story. This one takes place *right after* chapter 22. If you haven't read the main fic, 'A Second Chance', you are gonna be 1.) heckin' confused and 2.) heckin' spoiled on the events of the main plotline. 
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
>  **NOTES:**  
>  This chapter is rated "T" for teen as it contains mild language and alcohol. No real trigger warnings other than Kuroo rehashing a few of his childhood memories with his mom. Main theme: hurt/comfort, fluff, snuggles.

It was companionable, the way the short blonde held his hand in the back of the cab, fingers interlocked, the hum of the tires on the road cathartic and peaceful. Kuroo watched in silent reverence as the passing glow of the streetlamps flitted across his date’s face, his golden gaze fixed out the window, painting his feline features in breathtaking oranges and blues; the lights ephemeral, fleeting. 

Though the feeling in his body was anything but.

There had been times in his life where he had been so bone-crushingly lonely, left to fill the massive void in his chest cavity with the things he thought would bring him happiness; sex, alcohol- fuck, even the textbook definition of success that came in the form of a master’s degree and a great job designing life-saving prescription drugs. 

But it never felt like enough.

His brother, his best friend, once told him that he was enough simply because he was there, day in and day out. Daichi had explained that during their final drinking party on the roof of the Sawamura home the night before it was sold off, their entire childhood packed into boxes and stacked in the center of the living room, awaiting movers bright and early the next morning. Across town, Daichi’s mom and dad opted to stay in the new house with Tobio while the sons kept watch from their favorite lookout.

Watched the stars, more like it.

They laid side-by-side, but not shoulder-to-shoulder, the gap intentional to commemorate a person they both wished was there. Drenched in sweat under the sweltering July night with the black, sandy texture of the shingles digging into their bare backs, the two twenty-five-year-olds just laid there and talked, passing a bottle of peach schnapps back and forth, for old time’s sake. It was a means of nostalgia, to say goodbye to more than just a two-story residential dwelling with three bedrooms and one and a half baths and the perfect view of the neighborhood (once perched on the roof, at least.)

It was bidding a piece of their childhood farewell, the house holding so much love. It was the place he found himself, a safe haven, people to actually care for him and not just because they were biologically related. 

This home was where he sat at Mama Sawamura’s sewing machine and learned how to patch the holes in jeans as well as the ones in his heart, the patient, maternal kindness showing him what a real mother was like.

Daichi’s bedroom was where he confessed his sexuality to both of his best friends at the tender age of fourteen, each person on either side of him, holding his hand, giving him an encouraging smile, saying, ‘we’ll love you no matter what, Tetsu.’

And it was while eating a slice of cherry cobbler, seated at that yellowed Formica tabletop, that he realized he wanted to be when he grew up, eyes wide at the chemistry midterm stuck to the Sawamura fridge using that magnet Daichi had brought home from football camp. A bold, bright ‘A’ had been written across the top, circled with a little note that read ‘ _ Keep up the good work! _ ’ in a swirly script.

Yes, the old building beneath his spine would always be his home.

When Kuroo turned his head, the rooftop to his old house was visible, the loveless one he had once shared with a drunken mother who never truly loved him. The tan shingles had been replaced by the new family who moved in about six years ago, shortly after Ayako stopped paying the mortgage and the bank foreclosed on it. Just the very sight of it hurt his stomach.

“I think there’s a hole in my heart,” Kuroo had said that night, resting the bottom of the nearly empty bottle over the aforementioned body part, the glass cool against his clammy skin, the ocean breeze ruffling his dark hair. He could feel it there, just inside his ribcage, hammering away. But for what? “There’s something missing.”

Propping himself on an elbow, Daichi regarded him with those somber, dark eyes. “You don’t feel whole.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement, drawing a simple conclusion from the information he was presented. 

“Nah,” he whispered, his reply almost lost to the rolling sounds of the waves barely visible under the glow from the light pollution, but present nonetheless. “Never have.”

Daichi hummed and closed the gap between them, curling his best friend into his broad chest. Kuroo had been a bit drunk, not just on the shitty peach alcohol, but on the memories that this rooftop brought, the countless nights staring over into the adjacent house and dreaming of his own bedroom window being lit, imagining a life of bedtime stories and butterfly kisses and giggles that only a loving parent could pull from him.

“You’ve always been enough, Tetsuro,” the dark-haired man assured him, solid arms grounding him to the rooftop, holding him close. Kuroo didn’t cry that night, only wished he could as Daichi reassured him, “you are more than enough, babe, simply because you’re here. I love you, mom loves you, Tobes loves you, Yui loves you.” He squeezed harder, the fact that their best friend was still impossible to talk about in the past tense. “You are so loved, and you are enough.”

It would take several years after that conversation for Kuroo to finally begin to believe the words Daichi spoke, and it all started with a single step into an unfamiliar apartment complex. His large hand was woven with someone else’s, fingers linked to a man who was more familiar than he should be, all things considered. The pair entered the building with no pretense other than just to have someone to hold, companionship, desperate to know one another but without any of the heated sense of urgency.

They were there to just…  _ be _ . 

“This is it,” Kenma said quietly as he flicked on the light switch, illuminating a small studio apartment. It was neat and clean, aside from a few odds and ends. A stack of books that looked suspiciously like programming textbooks were piled high on a dark gray nightstand, edged up next to a queen-sized bed donning a bright red comforter. A TV sat up on a bookshelf, several game systems neatly organized in front of it. At the foot of the bed were two large, oversized bean bag chairs - one black, one red, facing the TV. 

“This is cute,” Kuroo commented with a smile, closing the door softly behind him, eyes scanning over the classic video game posters lining the wall around his living room area. Off to the side was a kitchenette, along with a stackable washer and dryer. There was also a door that he guessed gave way to a bathroom. He leaned down to unzip his thick black boots, removing them to set down by the door. 

“Thanks,” he murmured with a smile, sliding off his own canvas slip-ons. At that moment, Kenma approached the bed, and out from underneath it came a pair of beautiful cats, the two creatures he could only presume were the infamous Zelda and Link. One was charcoal gray with bright orange eyes, the other black as night with yellow eyes, reminiscent of a stalking panther. 

The two felines, while beautiful and magnificent to behold, were awfully friendly little things, jumping up on the bed to nuzzle their master, greeting him after being away. “Come say hi,” Kenma encouraged, waving a hand in a gesture of encouragement, the man slouched slightly over to get closer to his pets. With a big grin, Kuroo stepped forward, hand outstretched to pet the first cat.

“That’s Zelda, she’s a British shorthair” he explained, watching Kuroo carefully as he ran his hand over silken gray fur. “And this one is Link. He’s a Bombay.” As though in acknowledgment of his name, the black one lightly headbutted Kenma’s hand, begging for a little more attention. 

“They’re beautiful.” And they were absolutely gorgeous, yet, they weren’t the most beautiful creature in the room. Not by a long shot. “And they’re friendly.”

Kenma hummed, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “They like you.”

“Yeah?” Kuroo asked, raising an eyebrow, keeping his date in his peripheral. 

“Yeah.” The blonde rose back to full height then and met Kuroo’s gaze, the intimacy of it sending a shiver parading down his spine. “Would you like a glass of water?”

Unable to accurately formulate words, brain still reeling a bit from the alcohol coursing through his veins, he gave a quick nod, watching as the cat-like man pulled two glasses from the cabinet next to his stove before pulling a Brita filter from the fridge. He filled up both cups and walked back over, a shy smile on his lips. Kuroo could only stand there stiffly as he took a sip.

He  _ really  _ hadn’t thought any of this through.

Blessedly, Kenma made an offer that the taller man couldn’t refuse. “Would you like to watch a movie?”

The bedhead nodded again. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

“What do you like to watch?” he inquired, looking up at him through a thick fan of dark lashes. 

“Whatever you had on last is fine.” Kenma motioned him to sit down as he answered, the brunette obliging, falling into one of the huge bean bags with a giggle. Okay, so he was  _ still  _ a little tipsy. It was his birthday, after all. No shame in that. He could giggle, no worries. 

His date seemed to notice and gave a soft chortle at the sight. Like moths to a flame, the two cats circled before saddling up to the tall man, pressing their little snouts into either of his cheeks. “Heh, that tickles,” he giggled (yet again), doing his damndest not to spill his water.

“You can set it on the little step stool,” Kenma pointed to the tiny chair that doubled as a makeshift coffee table. The TV came to life as Kenma turned on the Xbox, the device powering on. In his slender hands, the bleached blonde held the controller, amber eyes fixed to the screen.

After several big gulps, he sat his water down, freeing up both hands to give the critters vying for his attention the proper pets they deserved. By that time, Netflix was cued up and already going. Next to the television, Kenma flicked off the overhead light, filling the room with the iridescent blue glow from the screen. 

“Do you like the Batman movies?” Kenma inquired as the screen loaded.

“Christina Bale?”

He shook his head yet again, blonde bun bobbing in the back of his head. “The animated series.”

“Fuck yeah, I love animated shit.”

With a shy smile, he pressed play, loading the screen. When the bold red letters appeared along with the signature music, Kenma finally sat the controller down back on the bookshelf. Kuroo noticed that the Xbox controller had a special stand, which was an 8” tall Master Chief from Halo.

_ Fucking cute. _

“Master Chief, huh?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“He’s my favorite.”

“Mine too! I can whoop Daichi’s ass at Halo, but he’s not much a video game guy, so I guess it doesn’t count.” 

At first, Kuroo was worried that his date wasn’t going to sit down. The opening credits were playing as Kenma headed back toward the closet located at the opposite side of his bed. He had to stand on his tiptoes to reach whatever it was he was after, which was pretty adorable, honestly, and with a little flourish, he finally removed the object he was vying for.

A flannel blanket, red and black, keeping up with the theme of the room, was folded over in his arms. With a somewhat anxious expression, the tiny blonde regarded Kuroo as he glanced back to the beanbag beside the tall chemist. Where the chair was once empty, it was now occupied by two fluffy cats, laying together like the two halves of yin and yang.

“I think that seat’s taken, Kitten,” Kuroo commented boldly, relatively sure that sly remake was going to earn him a swift slap across the face. (It wouldn’t be the first time.)

“Oh,” he replied shyly, voice barely audible above the sound of the theme music playing in the background. Batman was already up to something and the show had barely begun.

“This one’s free though,” he offered, patting his thigh. Kenma had already spent most of the night on his lap, wrapped in his arms. They hadn’t kissed yet or anything, and it wasn’t as though Kuroo had any real physical expectations for tonight. What he craved above all else was intimacy, a chance to connect with someone. Since their interactions had been greatly limited to that of the virtual variety thanks to the distance between Kansas and California, what he truly wanted was to know the real flesh and blood person before him. No sex, no expectations, no pressure. Just having taking things slow. He wanted to engrain the color of those sharp, amber eyes; commit to the memory the curve of his demure smile; embed his soft laugher into his very soul.

“Alright,” he whispered in the blanket, carefully lowering himself into the tall man’s lap, acting as though if he were to just ‘plop’, he would crush him (he wouldn’t, of that much Kuroo was certain.)

Finally, Kenma was seated on his thighs, pulling the fleece blanket over them. It was a natural fit, scarily so, as though he were made to settle into the warmth of Kuroo’s chest. Up close, Kuroo could catch a whiff of cucumber and lime, the scent wafting off his gorgeous two-tone hair. He fought the urge to reach up and run his fingers through it or to lean in closer and breathe that fresh smell in.

Instead, he opted to carefully circle his arms around that slender waist, pulling him closer, the warmth magnetic. Much quicker than he thought, Kenma relaxed into the embrace, snuggling in as he let out a deep sigh. On the TV, Batman was kicking some criminal’s ass, his high kick quite impressive.

“How was your interview?” Kenma asked right as Kuroo’s eyes fell shut. The brunette pressed his forehead into the shoulder before him, relishing in the soft cotton fabric of the scarlet sweatshirt.

“Good, I think.”

“You think?” Kenma mimicked, a questioning tone in his voice.

“Yeah.”

“When will you know?”

“I know now.”

He squirmed a little against Kuroo’s chest, bringing his hands underneath the blanket to meet his date’s. Kuroo couldn’t see anything, only feel the way those smaller hands pried his apart, not realizing that they were balled into fists. It must have been his nerves, he surmised. 

Yes, he knew exactly how his interview went. While Daichi was gone to work, Kuroo put on his best suit, tucked his leatherbound portfolio up under his arm, and drove his rental car to NKMA Pharmaceuticals, the leading medical giant in the midwest. He had even taken the time to slick down his hair, keeping it professional. (Though the second he was hired, he was going right back to his signature hairstyle, office norms be damned.) The institution was famous for creating drugs that were cost-efficient and reducing overall expenses for the consumer, single-handedly revolutionizing the industry. It was going to be a tough gig to get, to say the least. 

If Kuroo was going to land a job there as a medical researcher, he would have to really present a quality resume as well as ace his interview. Going in, he knew his charm would only get him so far. The pre-interview that had been conducted via zoom was cutthroat, Kuroo feeling like he was in master’s o-chem all over again. Apparently, he had survived that, because not even two hours later, an email popped up with an invitation to choose a time slot for a face-to-face.

“And?” Kenma asked nervously, the question seemingly crawling up his throat. Kuroo could feel the heat radiating off of his face, a blush warming his cheeks.

“And…” he took a deep breath, anxious of Kenma’s reaction. Why? Maybe he was scared that it would change everything. That once he knew, he would call it off. Maybe it was just easier to be gaming friends, meeting up only on Overwatch, or just sending hilarious anime memes back and forth every now and then.

Because after all, sometimes things were much easier in theory than in practice. 

“I got the job.”

Much as anticipated, Kenma didn’t jump for joy. He didn’t toss the blanket off, spin around, and plant a wet kiss on Kuroo’s eager lips. There wasn’t a parade, confetti falling from the ceiling, fanfare played on trumpets. Instead, he simply let go of a long breath, his lungs deflating, causing him to melt even further into Kuroo’s arms.

“You got the job.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t keep the shakiness out of his voice as he answered. 

“Did you tell Daichi?”

Kuroo hummed, opening his eyes for the first time in several long moments, shifting Kenma in his lap. He titled his head back so that way Kuroo could look directly at his golden gaze. The younger man seemed stunned by this action, bringing his hand up to ball the front of Kuroo’s shirt. He hadn’t worn anything fancy out, just black skinny jeans and a gray button-down top, though Kenma’s nimble fingers smoothing over the soft fabric made him feel as though he were still sporting the tailored suit he had donned to his interview.

“I didn’t. I didn’t want to rain on what he had going on with his boyfriend.”

“Did he even know you had an interview?”

Kuroo suspected that Daichi knew  _ something  _ was up, though his best friend was thankfully just a bit too dense to ask. To be fair, he was also the right amount of distracted with a certain gorgeous nurse slash also caught up in Tobio’s first sleepover. All in all, it worked out in Kuroo’s favor. He didn’t tell Daichi about the interview out of fear of getting his hopes up. Not only would that up the ante as far as the pressure he had put on himself to make this happen, but he couldn’t even deal with Daichi’s reaction.

Whether or not he got the job, his best friend would cry. There would be tears of either unbridled joy or devastating disappointment, and Kuroo didn’t know which he was more ill-prepared for, in all honesty. Even after receiving the job offer immediately at the conclusion of the interview, and Kuroo accepting without a second thought, he still didn’t believe it was real. What if they, for some reason, rescinded their offer? A background check was required, after all. Would they see where he had to have thousands of dollars worth of credit card debt expunged from his name on his seventeenth birthday because his mother fraudulently stole his identity? What about the time he got a MIP he got in college while walking between dorm rooms, a jumbo-sized bottle of vodka hidden underneath his sweatshirt that had to be confiscated by campus police? Or fuck, what about the parking tickets from when he first got his Ducati and thought a motorcycle could be parked anywhere? 

“He didn’t,” Kuroo answered finally with a massive exhale. “I didn’t tell him.” 

Kenma hummed, but the tone of it was indescribable. Was he disappointed? Surprised? Amused?

“You’re a good brother,” Kenma commented finally, not looking up at Kuroo’s face. Instead, his eyes wandered, staring up at the TV show. The taller of the two really had no idea what was going on anymore, simply that Batman was now knee-deep into a lecture from Alfred about something or another. It was quite humorous even if he didn’t know exactly what the posh butler was particularly upset about.

“Yeah?” Kuroo asked, giving his date a little squeeze. Kenma only smirked.

“You’re missing the best part.” He tilted his head toward the screen, the Batmobile speeding down some dark street in Gotham. Perhaps their dark hero was in pursuit of the Joker, or the Penguin or whatever run-of-the-mill villain was in this particular movie.

“Oh?” he asked curiously.

“Poison Ivy is coming on next.”

That comment really spiked Kuroo’s interest. “Oh? Do you like her?”

Kenma nodded. “She’s basically a fox.”

“Now this is a development. Do you like women?”

With a nonchalant shrug, the little blonde answered, “I’m pansexual.”

“I’m bi,” Kuroo admitted, suddenly feeling closer to his kitten. They hadn’t really discussed sexuality or anything of the like over their texts and video game chatrooms, it never seemed appropriate. Kuroo had been too busy just simply building a friendship.

“Cool, then we can both drool over Poison Ivy.”

Unable to bottle that signature hyena laugh, he just let it go, heart soaring and so full of light. Kenma settled in closer, tucking his head beneath the point of the brunette’s chin, affording Kuroo another intoxicating whiff of cucumber and mint.

\-------

Sometime in the middle of the night, Kuroo stirred. 

He had been lost in a dream, somewhere on a rooftop, the sound of the waves present, but not the lights of the city. When he reached to his left, Daichi hadn’t been there, not like normal. He had slipped through his fingers, too. Just like Yui. And no matter how wide he tried to open his eyes, it was always dark; bleary and black and all-consuming. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, all he could taste was peaches, souring on his tongue as his voice shriveled in his lungs.

It took his brain a moment to catch up with where he was. He shifted only slightly, Kuroo finding himself surprised to feel thousands of tiny beads shuffling against his broad back, the feeling evident even through his shirt. But the most surprising sensation of all was the welcome weight present on his chest, acting as his own personal furnace. 

Being extra careful as to not jostle the sleeping man, Kuroo readjusted himself only slightly, just enough to move his right arm, his hand already having gone a little tingly. Thanks to the haze from the TV left on the Netflix menu, he was able to survey his surroundings. 

He was at Kenma’s. 

In Kansas City. 

And he just celebrated his thirtieth birthday.

At some point during the movie, they must have dozed off. Their conversations had been easy, coming so naturally, like they had known each other all their lives. Maybe, in a different life, they had met and befriended each other before. 

The bedhead had heard the term ‘soul mates’ thrown around a time or two, but never did he truly believe they really existed. He wasn’t sure what this was, not entirely. It was too early to tell, but because it existed, Kuroo believed that perhaps the idea of fateful meetings could, too. Maybe it was the work of a higher power or possibly just the collective energy of the universe. Either way, something cosmic existed, and it had the ability to bring people together, uniting them when they needed it most. 

Unwillingly to let himself dwell too much longer, he pulled the blonde closer, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of his head. “Goodnight, kitten,” he whispered into the silken hair, unsure if he would actually be heard.

It would take days, months, maybe even years. But as his eyes slipped closed, he could feel the chambers in his heart firing, working to thread the patch that would fill the hole that had grown in his chest, Mama Sawamura’s sewing machine not required.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think?! I know it wasn't overly long, but I still wanted to write a sweet moment between them. I hope to update the main story very soon! Thanks for reading! :)


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